“Aly,” she says slowly, “that man hired me for three grand a week because someone touched me wrong.”
I blink.
“He nearly killed a guy for me,” she continues. “You think he’s gonna tell you to abort his baby?”
“I don’t know,” I say helplessly. “He’s Kazimir Baranov.”
“Yeah,” she says. “Exactly. He’s obsessed with you. Like, borderline feral. That isn’t fear, babe. That’s love, even if he doesn’t know the word for it yet.”
Love.
The idea terrifies me more than anything else.
Back outside, Devin walks briskly to the SUV, ignoring Kaz and getting into the passenger seat. He stares at her, then turns to me.
“You okay?” he asks immediately.
I nod, then shake my head.
He steps closer, concern darkening his gaze. Around us, the city is waking up. Couples chat at sidewalk tables, someone whizzes by on a bike. The driver is watching passively in the side window as Kaz tugs me close, wrapping an arm around my waist.
“What is it?”
My mouth goes dry. My heart pounds so hard I’m sure he can hear it.
“We need to talk,” I whisper.
He stills.
I take his hand and press it to my stomach before I lose my nerve.
“What are we going to do?” I ask.
His eyes widen.
Then he bends and kisses me, hard, desperate, and warm, like he’s been waiting for this moment without realizing it.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.
“I’ll do anything,” he murmurs, voice rough. “For you. For the baby. Anything.”
It’s not the first promise I’ve gotten from the Bratva leader. And he hasn’t broken any others yet. I can’t help wondering, as he presses a kiss just under my earlobe, if this is the best choice. For me, for him, and for the baby that will inherit his legacy of business and blood.
Chapter 28
Kazimir
The quarter glides over my knuckles in a smooth, practiced way. It catches the low light of the study lamp each time it turns, flashing silver like a blade.
Index to middle, middle to ring, ring to pinky, then back again.
It is an old habit, older than most of the men who work for me now. I picked it up on the streets of Prague when I was as thin as a wire and as mean as a stray dog. Back then the trick served a purpose, because loose hands meant quick hands, and quick hands meant survival. If I could keep my fingers busy, I could keep my eyes sharp, and if I looked relaxed, people underestimated me long enough to make a mistake.
Many years later, I’m doing it wearing a tailored shirt that costs more than a month’s rent did back then, and it’s turned into nothing more than a nervous tic.
The study is quiet except for the faint tick of the antique clock on the far wall. Dark wood shelves line the room from floor to ceiling, filled with leather-bound volumes I have never had time to read. The wide windows look out over the estate like a painting too perfect to be real. Gravel paths curve through trimmed hedges, the fountain murmurs steadily, and beyond thegates the world carries on. Most people are completely unaware that half of Savannah’s bloodier decisions get made in this historic home.
I stare through the glass without really seeing any of it.
